


Fallen Idols

by Mango_Marbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 19:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mango_Marbles/pseuds/Mango_Marbles
Summary: Tag to 12x3, The Foundry. Mary isn't the mother that Dean remembers.





	Fallen Idols

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

Dean spent his life holding onto the memories of the mother who left him. The mother who always asked if he wanted the crusts cut off of his sandwich (always more peanut butter than jelly, please). The mother who sang _Hey Jude_ to him when he couldn't fall asleep and made tomato rice soup when he wasn't feeling well.

He never expected that the next time they met would end with her leaving again, only of her own free will.

Mary burned again thirty-three years after her death. She wasn't pinned to a ceiling. She simply walked up a set of stairs with a bag slung over her shoulder and burned out of existence, leaving behind two broken boys.

She walked away, and Dean felt all of four years old again. Standing in that hallway and seeing the play of light on the walls from the fire. Breathing in the wisps of smoke beginning to escape from Sam's nursery as his dad shoved Sam into his arms and gave him his first order: take his brother outside as fast as he can.

The sound of the heavy door closing echoed through the bunker, and Sam flinched like it was a gunshot instead of something so innocuous. Dean was surprised that he didn't flinch at it, too, but he didn't feel much more than emptiness and disappointment in himself for not having seen Mary's departure coming. After all, he should be used to the people he loved leaving him.

Dean remembered being a child and hugging Mary, telling her that he would never leave her even then. He promised not to leave her like John had, after a fight he couldn't remember. A fight that problem took place after he was safely tucked in bed.

It was one of the greatest hits played in his Heaven.

No matter how hard he tried during those few days without John, he saw the sadness in her. He couldn't take John's place. He wasn't a good enough substitution.

He wasn't good enough. He was never good enough for her, and he saw that now.

After all, she never promised not to leave _him_.

Sam took a deep breath and left, his head hung low in a way that made his hair into a veil that hid his face from view.

Dean watched him leave. Neither of them had anything to say, and Dean wondered who Mary's rejection was easier on: someone who had vague memories of her or someone who had only stories of her.

And maybe he should have followed Sam and said something, anything. Let him know that, yeah, it sucked that Mary left, and he was sorry that she didn't quite live up to the image of her that Dean and John painted over the years with their stories, but they still had each other.

He weaved through the halls of the bunker to Sam's room and pushed the door open just enough for him to peek in. He could only see Sam's back and Sam himself was quiet, but the prominent shake of his shoulders told Dean all he needed to know, and he felt all of twelve years old again. Watching as Sam tried to shut the world out after Dean confirmed all the madness written in John's journal. Watching as Sam's world crumble away and his view of John changed forever, the image of his father now nothing more than a lie.

Dean closed the door and left, uncertain if he wanted to see out alcohol or his own room. He only knew that it was better to let Sam have his time alone for now. Let Sam shut out the world the way he wanted to all those years ago.

Dean couldn't promise him this time that it would all be okay in the morning. He didn't know how many more hits either of them could take at this point.

Dean ran his hand across his own chest, feeling the emptiness over his plain shirt. He didn't want to remind Sam of that Christmas, not when it would bring up other issues that he wasn't ready to deal with yet. Issues that he wasn't sure they would ever be able to fully sort through, not with everything that happened over the years.

He had the amulet in his room ever since he found it in Sam's pocket before Chuck revealed himself, but he could just never bring himself to slip it back over his head. He wanted to say that he'd forgiven Sam for everything. The angels messed with them, and Sam was forced to more than pay for the Apocalypse they both started.

Maybe, he thought, it was himself that he hadn't forgiven yet.

He ended up spending the night drinking alone. Sam didn't leave his room, and Dean didn't seek him out. Tonight, they could break themselves apart in solitude.

Tomorrow, they could start building themselves back up together.

* * *

In the morning, Mary's absence wasn't any easier. The gaping hole she left behind was no smaller, even though it shouldn't have been so big when they spent the last thirty-three years without her around.

Sam sat across from him for breakfast, but neither of them were hungry enough to do more than push their food around, taking only the occasional bite because they knew they should even if they didn't want to. The taste of fresh coffee was a welcome burn after a night filled with the burn of alcohol. The smell was refreshing and familiar, one of the few things that gave him a feeling of _home_ before they had the bunker to claim as theirs.

"You know," Sam said, breaking the silence, "I kind of miss Dad. He wasn't exactly Father of the Year material, but I always knew where I stood with him. I always knew that he loved us, even if he wasn't the best at showing it."

Whatever bits of appetite Dean had were gone now. He never stopped missing their dad, especially when he was the reason their dad died in the first place.

"You think Mom doesn't love us?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know," he said. "That's the problem. I can't tell how she feels about us or what she thinks. I just know that she doesn't want to be here."

"She just needs time. She'll come around, Sammy."

Dean didn't believe his own words, and he imagined Sam didn't either. He understood what Sam was saying. Mary was there, but she wasn't _there_. She wanted to be back with John and them as children. She didn't want them to be adults. She didn't want them to be hunters.

She didn't want _them_.

"What if she doesn't?" Sam asked.

If she didn't, it would be a rejection for both of them, to not be wanted by their own mother because she didn't like what they'd become due to her death. If she didn't, the absence she left would never go away because there would be no real closure for them, not with leaving being her own choice.

"Well, we've made it thirty-three years without her so far."

"I just… If it had been someone else, then at least I could have held onto the image I used to have of her. Of the mother who would always love us no matter what, but just never got the chance to."

Sam laughed softly and shook his head, taking a bite of his nearly untouched breakfast. "Never mind. I guess it doesn't really matter."

"It does matter," Dean said. "But even without Mom, there's still me and there's still you. Hasn't that always been enough?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I mean, we still have family, too, even if they aren't blood. There's Cas. There's Jody and the girls. Hell, Garth, maybe. He's like the strange cousin we never really wanted. We aren't alone."

"No, we're not."

But Dean couldn't stop wondering why Amara brought back Mary, why she thought that it was Mary that he needed the most. Why not John or Bobby? His father and the man who was like a father were people that he would always need. They were the people who were always there when he needed them, the people who made him into the man he was today.

Why would she bring back Mary, who didn't want to be back? Mary, who was happier in her Heaven and disgusted by what her sons had become?

Like Sam said, if it had been someone else, they could have held onto the image of a loving mother.

This gift of Amara's was no gift. It was a curse.


End file.
